WHOM WOULD YOU FIRST DEPORT?
Life is full of paradoxes, as any fan of Oscar Wilde must know.
“I make so much money, I don’t have to care about non-material things!” This is one common paradox, coined by the noble Blossius. How peculiar indeed that some of the richest amongst us, who could dedicate their lives to philosophy, the study of the Seven Civilizations, or to simple enlightened leisure, are instead the biggest materialists of us all. They spend the remains of their consummatory lives splurging their wealth like fetid ooze on vulgar bottle services and tasteless idiocies.
“Only a shallow person goes beyond the surface” is another interesting one. Recognizing that human existence, our Lebenswelt, is indeed a surface phenomenon is a profound truth! We interact with one another person to person, I to thou, at the level of visible and touchable things. Attempting to “explain” us through atoms, “evolutionary psychology,” and pheromones is peek shallowness and stupidity.
Another interesting paradox is that of the hierarchy of deportations. Visitors of this website know that we often call for an Anglo-Western demographic and cultural restoration. An America resembling more Victorian England and less a blasphemous hybrid of Honduras and Bangladesh.
However, on a personal level, the most annoying people I know are neither Hondurans nor even Bangladeshis. I had a Honduran cleaning lady in Manhattan years ago. She was really nice! In that verminous and faceless conurbation, she was the only living soul to care for me when I was sick and comforted me with simple-made chicken soup.
As to Bangladeshis, I had once finished dinner in the Subcontinental area of Chicago. While walking back to my car I was hailed by a truck loaded with seven or so Muslimas. The ladies couldn’t figure out how to park their gigantic van, so they offered me their keys and asked if I could park it for them. I did so of course. What sweet trust! They could hardly speak English, but they extended their high-trust peasant manners of the mud hut onto me, a complete stranger!
I wouldn’t deport any of those lovely women. Chicken soup and sweet trust are enough for buying my support, even without a Mayflower affinity to Paul Revere and Patrick Henry. All in good measure, I suppose.
But we do have to deport somebody, the country is getting overly crowded.
My suggestion is white women! The most vexing population on demographic display is by far that of white women. Maybe Indian women too, but mostly white (and Jewish). There isn’t even any competition. During the height of Covid, the creatures screaming at me at the dog park for not wearing a mask were all white women. The Mexican families would stroll by joyfully and nonchalantly, never yelling at me (but sadly leaving behind a trail of chicken bones).
At work, black and Hispanic women are often very sweet and know how to enjoy the occasional compliment about their ensembles, looks, or the pictures of their children. The white women, alas, are highly susceptible to harpification. With them, loveliness is gone and replaced by timesheets, imbecilic “projects,” high anxiety, and Type A career-witchery. Try to comment about their clothes and they’ll burn you alive with an angry accusatory stare, summoning all the devilish black spells of feminism. Compliment one on the angelic faces of their offspring and they’ll crawl into a defensive position, making you feel like a leprosy-stricken pedophile.
How often have I smiled in goodwill and kindness to a corporate-wench only to be received by the anxious snarl of an overstressed Fury! I’m a man of a sensitive poetic soul and such things deeply offend my Homeric spirit.
So I’m not exactly supporting the continuous flow of Latinos and Muslims into America, God knows we’ve had our fair share, but I wouldn’t mind an exchange. Let’s deport a type A growling harpy for every DREAMer we allow to remain.
And if white women wish to avoid the new regulation they can make me some chicken soup.
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